


A rope to bind your soul

by Liena67



Series: From the end a new beginning [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adlock, Dominatrix, F/M, Love, Passion, Riding Crop, Rope Bondage, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 19:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14362530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liena67/pseuds/Liena67
Summary: an erotic moment between Sherlock and Irene, a role-playing game between two dominant and strong people like themBecause domination is an artBecause a rope ties two wrists but also binds two soulsBecause a red mark on the skin is a signature on the heartA rope to bind your soulA stroke to mark your heartA look to enter and drown inside you





	A rope to bind your soul

**Author's Note:**

> In this one-shot I imagined an erotic moment between Sherlock and Irene and as a man so strong, proud and dominant as Sherlock, not at all interested in sexual games in general, can instead "play" with Irene the dominatrix.  
> This shot is positioned at the end of my sixth long story, after so many evolutions and life paths of these two characters, but I decided to translate it and publish it now (I have cut from the original a sentence to avoid a spoiler that is not really functional to the shot).  
> Obviously, this should be considered as a point of arrival of a path, and after Black Heart there are still five long stories that I have not yet translated.  
> A shot that was also born for a challenge, launched on a group, to see if I could write such a moment, difficult for the character of Sherlock and because it's like walking on a thin nylon wire stretched between two skyscrapers, risking falling into banal or in porn.  
> Those who read it in Italy told me that I succeeded in the challenge.  
> I hope you will like it too and as always, forgive my English.

**Because domination is an art**

**Because a rope ties two wrists but also binds two souls**

**Because a red mark on the skin is a signature on the heart**

**A rope to bind your soul**

**A stroke to mark your heart**

**A look to enter and drown inside you**

 

A finely set table, elegant dishes, a bottle of red wine, dim lights, a lighted candle at the center of the table, a good roast scent, coming from a large serving dish, and Sherlock standing, smiling and looking at her with those eyes greens that seem to shine. Irene squinted at the unusual scene that greeted her by returning to their home in Eaton Square. She has spent time with a new client, a promising future dominatrix to whom she is teaching the secrets of the trade, coming home only now, and would never have expected to be faced with such a welcome.

"Welcome back," Sherlock tells her, starting to open the bottle of wine.

"I do not understand the reason for all this... but it's a nice return home, I have to admit".

"I thought that in recent times we have been very busy with my cases, with your work... maybe we needed it" he says again, pouring the wine in the two glasses.

"You organized everything, I see" Irene says, smiling but without moving.

"As always... you know, when I organize a plan I do it in every detail," he says with a slightly ironic smile.

"Yes... I know... I'm going to change and I'll be right back"

Sherlock watches her move in those clothes she habitually uses when she has business meetings. The tight black dress that wraps around her body, the side slit that lets glimpse her beautiful legs and the black lace edge of her stockings, her thin high-heeled shoes, her elegant and austere hairstyle, her lips, so red and inviting.

"Stop, don’t do it," he says, and when he sees her turn around again with a questioning look, he holds his breath for a moment, "I mean... don’t change your clothes... please," he adds in a lower tone of voice.

Irene just tilts her head and her blue eyes now seem the color of the deepest of the oceans as she fixes her gaze on that of him and seems to read him inside, in his deepest desires, as indeed she has always done since they met.

"Oh... I see" she says to him after a few moments, with that particular smile, mischievous and captivating, which she reserves only to him. Without saying anything, she approaches the set table, moving with her natural and feline elegance, and when she sees Sherlock move the chair aside, she sits down and waits to see him sit in his place.

The wine glasses rise in a mute toast. Sherlock cuts and serves the roast, and then both start to eat in silence, but almost without taking their eyes off each other. It often happens that they do not need to talk, because there are other ways they communicate. Their eyes, their lips rippled in hinted smiles, the vibrations of their bodies that fill any silence.

"There's something I don’t like," she says after a while, when their plates are half empty.

"What? I was careful and I followed the recipe scrupulously... it's impossible that it's wrong," Sherlock says, arching an eyebrow.

"I didn’t talk about food," Irene replies, with that particular smile, and looking at the puzzled expression of him, she just shakes her head.

 "Oh Sherlock... you disappoint me so... you should know how you should behave in certain situations" she says in a persuasive and at the same time serious voice, which causes an immediate thrill in Sherlock, who now lays his fork in his plate.

Irene still looks at him, senses his reactions, reflects herself in those green eyes, in that proud, curious and passionate gaze that always strikes her and makes her want to see him let himself go completely.

"You don’t want to disappoint me... do you, Sherlock?" she asks him, raising a finger to indicate his clothes.

Sherlock looks at her and his lips just hatch. He does not answer and for a few moments does not move, barely breathes. Those words, the way she says them, the tone of voice, that seems sweet and severe at the same time, sensual and erotic, all this has an effect on him that he can never explain, but that now, at this moment, in this instant that belongs only to them, he doesn’t want to explain himself. He just wants to live it. Without saying anything, he slowly gets up and without taking his eyes off hers, he begins to undress by posing his clothes, one by one and in perfect order, on the chair.

Irene looks at him smiling, while she sips her wine, and when she sees him totally naked, she looks down on his body with an almost exasperating slowness.

"Better... but it's still not enough" she says and, with a simple movement of her eyes, she makes him understand what she wants.

Sherlock gulps hard, feeling his body crossed by a series of shivers and with a sigh he approaches her, slowly kneels at her side. Her scent now fills his nostrils and his heart beats already strong. Resisting the temptation to touch her, to take her at that moment, requires all his ability to control.

Irene looks at him and when she sees him at her side, she observes his evident excitement, that has an immediate effect on her. She feels the heat that emanates his beautiful body, she sees his muscles that dart through the tension, his hands and long fingers that tremble just for the desire to move. Without saying anything, she takes his hands and lifts them, to make them weave behind his own head. With one hand, she held them steady, while her other hand caresses his cheeks with her finger, then the line of his chin and his lips.

"Do you think it's nice to have to tell you these things?" she asks him, continuing to pass the finger on his lips parted "a good boy should understand these things by himself, isn’t it?" she still asks, while her finger and her fingernail now are on his neck.

"Yes... you're right" Sherlock can hardly answer, while his thoughts are totally confused and his mind is full of sensations that that voice, that look, those hands, are getting on him. And it is so damn exciting and liberating to be able to completely extinguish his thoughts, a sensation that only she can give him, as the effect of the strongest of existing drugs.

"And you know that a good boy always receives an award... do you want to receive an award Sherlock?" She asks him, while her fingernail slides on his chest, talking to him in that voice that seems a whisper, a murmur, like the magnetic sound that emits a panther when it seems to purr but is instead ready to launch its attack.

"Yes... yes… I want it" Sherlock replies, gulping and breathing with his lips open, while his heart is beating faster and stronger.

"But you did not behave like a good boy Sherlock... and do you know what it happens to a bad boy?" Irene asks again, approaching her lips to those of him, to hold his lower lip between her teeth, while her fingernail stops on one of his nipples, squeezing it between her fingers.

Sherlock holds back his breath while a thrill crosses his back, and he doesn’t know what has more effect on him, if her words, that slight bite, her hand that imprisons his, her nail on his chest.

"Yes... yes... I... know" are the only words that he can barely whisper.

Irene looks at him smiling slightly and feels her heart speed up. Seeing how he follows her, causes her an intimate pleasure but it’s different, with him everything is always different. Because that's how it works with this man so strong, dominant in everyday life and with anyone around him. She doesn’t want to humiliate him, she doesn’t want to see him at her feet, she wants to see him let himself go, like he is not with anyone but her.

"Very well" she says to him with a whisper, breathing hardly on his lips without touching them. She just tightens his nipple between her fingers and suddenly moves away from him, leaving the grip on his hands and taking the glass of wine to take another sip. She then, she puts the glass on the table again and watches him stand by her side, with those hands entwined behind his head and the muscles in tension, that are even more evident in the position. She then slowly rises and walks towards the kitchen door.

"Come on," she says, without even looking back as she proceeds into the atrium towards the stairs.  
Sherlock stays still for a while, trying to return to have a normal breath, when he sees her move away, but her voice shakes him and, without saying anything he follows her. He goes up the stairs admiring her way so elegant and sensual to move, that immediately charmed him, as a siren that with her song attracts you, to push you to follow her in the depths of the sea.

They go upstairs, walk down the corridor until they get to their room.

Irene enters by turning on the light and with a simple gesture of the hand, she shows him the center of the room, stopping near a closet to observe him, until she sees him again and spontaneously put himself in the same position as before. She sighs slightly biting her lip, he's so beautiful, so damn sexy while on his knees he looks at her with that proud and adoring gaze at the same time. Irene opens the wardrobe and takes a rope and a riding crop from a bag, closes the wardrobe and takes a chair, placing it a few steps in front of Sherlock. She rests the rope to one side of the chair's back and starts to turn around him, a slow dance while with her riding crop she grazes his chest, hips, back, lower abdomen, buttocks, shoulders. She finally stops behind him and grabs his hands with a firm hand, to gently tilt his head back and cross his eyes with those of her, which look at him smiling.

"Do you see that when you want, you know how to behave well?" she just whispers, then she bends down to kiss him, a passionate and fierce kiss that lasts only a few moments and leaves him breathless. Irene then leaves his head and comes back in front of him, takes the chair closer to him, puts on it the riding crop and, without saying anything, she opens the zip of her dress letting it slide on her body.

Sherlock sighs, looking at the body now highlighted by the transparent black lace bra, garter belts and knickers of the same fabric, stockings with a high edge in black lace. He watches her take the riding crop again and sit in front of him, approaching the chair until his body is between her legs. He is so excited at the moment that he would jump on her instantly, but her eyes are like chains that are impossible to melt.

"Do you trust me Sherlock?" She asks in a whisper.  
"Yes... totally" he answers without hesitation.  
Irene feels a thrill crosses her, because those words are like an act of love and it’s the only thing that interests her in the deep.

"Good... hands behind your back" she says to his lips, without moving until she sees him remove his hands from his head and place them behind his back. Then, placed the riding crop on her own legs, with one hand she takes the rope from the back of the chair, puts her hands behind his back and embracing him, she takes his wrists until they are lifted up to his forearms. With skilled and expert moves, Irene passes the rope around his wrists, creating a series of intricate knots, and then she passes the rope on his shoulder, holding it tight in one hand and in the movement the wrists and arms are pushed upwards. Their bodies touch each other, their eyes do not detach themselves, as Irene passes the rope around the back of the chair behind her, where she then ties it up so that it stays tense.

Sherlock's heavy breathing mixes with that of her, who looks at him for a long time without doing anything, making the wait for what is about to happen becomes almost a palpable sensation.

"Do not move a muscle... do not even make a sound" she whispers on his lips, moving her hand with the riding crop behind his back, while the other slowly descends on his chest, scratching him with her fingernails until she meets his erection and in the same moment, when she holds it in her hand, the other arm rises and hits him with precision.

Sherlock is suddenly crossed by a myriad of contrasting sensations when he feels the pain of the hit joining to the pleasure, caused by the closeness with her body and her hand that tightens it and is moving with exhausting slowness. At each movement of her hand corresponds a hit and the sensations are so strong in him that he instinctively begins to pull his hands, as if to want to free himself but only gets to stretch the rope even more. He doesn’t count the hits, he can’t even distinguish pain from pleasure and with his eyes tarnished he keeps his gaze fixed on hers until he sees her stop.

Irene feels him vibrate under her hand, feels the tension of all his muscles and his breathless breath on her lips. She just smiles, biting his lower lip again.

"Good boy... you behaved well this time," she whispers again, putting the riding crop on her legs and slowly, without departing from him or look away, she loosens the knot of the rope from the chair and frees his wrists. She picks up the rope in one hand, picks up the riding crop and gets up, pushing the chair aside.

"On the bed Sherlock" she tells him leaving the riding crop on a shelf and without saying anything else, she waits to see him get up and lie down on the bed. Irene then approaches and kneels on the edge of the bed, caressing his body for a long time with the rope.

"Turn around" she still tells him in a sweet and firm whisper, that makes him tremble even deeper.

Gulping and with his heart that runs to a thousand, Sherlock turns around with his face on the pillow. He feels her sit astride him and, taking his hand, she ties his wrist with the rope to the bed, then tying the rope to the other wrist. His breathing now is getting heavier and his excitement getting louder.

Irene looks at him for a while below, admiring the red marks that form almost an intricate design on his back and buttocks. To see him so exposed is for her as if he had given her his being, his soul, his heart and not just his body. With her hands she frees her hair leaving them free on her shoulders, then she takes off her bra, leaving it to fall on the ground, and lifts up just to undress completely. Then she bends down and with her lips starts kissing and licking those signs, going down on his back up to the buttocks and Sherlock this time can’t hold back a long moan. Every sign, every point of his struck skin, she tastes it, feeling the heat that emits his body and almost feels like burning. She rises with her lips along his back slowly, feeling him move beneath her and moan, and this excites her more than ever. She relaxes completely on his body and bites his shoulder, before sliding her lips to the lobe of his ear, that catches almost voraciously, sucking it to hear him moan even more. Irene caresses him with her whole body, with the same intensity with which she had just hit him. Then she moves to his side and with skill she insinuates herself under him, until she fits him and hugs him with her own body.

Sherlock follows her every move and when he finds himself on top of her, he is now almost at the height of excitement. Strongly he pulls the wrists that remain firmly tied to the espalier of the bed, and the feeling of being totally prisoner of her desires, makes him more excited. He stares at her and feels her move, until he finds himself inside her and now he closes his eyes moaning, feeling his body tremble with desire.

Irene squeezes him hard and with her hands on his hips dictates his rhythm, starting to moan beneath him as she grabs him between her legs, to feel him more and more inside. She kisses him passionately, looking for his tongue as if she wanted to feed him. She caresses his back, his buttocks and then suddenly slows down the rhythm until she makes him stop. Irene looks at him, just touching his lips, rises with her right hand along his back, shoulder, chest and then puts two fingers on his lips, pushing with a finger until it enters completely into his mouth.

Sherlock breathes with difficulty and feels the heart now that almost breaks out and when he feels that finger pressing on his lips, he kisses it and caresses it with his tongue, starting to suck it with voracity.

Irene looks at him almost fascinated, because seeing him like that, drives her mad. She feels him inside her and her muscles contracts and squeezes him, even without moving with her body.

Her contraction causes a moan in Sherlock, who closes his eyes devouring and licking her finger, until she takes it off and replaces her tongue. The finger slowly descends along his back, stopping in the furrow between his buttocks. Sherlock can’t resist and starts moving again and when Irene presses slowly entering him, the feeling is so strong as to make him almost scream in her mouth. Now it is as if they were one body, one soul, one mind, one heart.

With her other hand Irene unties the knots, freeing his wrists from the ropes, and at the same time that his hands are free, Sherlock increases his rhythm, intertwining and imprisoning her hand above her own head. He moves his lips on her neck kissing it, biting it, leaving a trail of kisses and bites from her throat to her shoulder to her arm, while the intertwined bodies follow the same rhythm that increases more and more, until they reach the climax one after the other screaming their names with broken voices.  
When their exhausted bodies stop moving, they remain immobile for a long time, without being able to breathe, their faces hidden in the other's neck, until they slowly unhook and Sherlock collapses to her side, continuing to hold her embraced but letting her breathe.

Their red faces, their lips parted, a slight smile, they look at each other, and in those eyes, they both see the heart of the other, the deepest soul that is nothing but the mirror of their own essence.


End file.
